


a nickel for your thoughts

by tvheads



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Gen, POV Second Person, im still figuring out how this site works especially with multi chapter fics so, is this what you call a character study, probably, the ocs are just nickel's dead friends lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-04-24 22:17:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14364852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tvheads/pseuds/tvheads
Summary: You're a tiny medbot living amongst warrior giants. You're going to survive (even if you don't always want to).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> nickel feels like me in a lot of ways (specifically/especially the "scolding people more threatening than her" and "small among… not smalls" aspects) and i wanted to explore her whole thing more. in other words this is entirely nickel-centric (in 2nd person pov cuz im a filthy filthy homestuck) and while parts of it are from my imagination there are retellings of canon stories here. have fun with my possibly-horrendous writing

You're not dead, but you wish you were. You want to be with your friends, not alone, with what you can only assume to be dust and energon all over your frame and probably making you look even worse than you actually were. Which was still really bad.

That wasn't even your entire predicament—you were pinned in place by some _very_ inconvenient rubble, and your HUD was screaming at you to get help right away. Thank you so much, Captain Obvious. Not like the immense pain from literally everywhere on your stupid body wasn't telling you that already, no way!

You probably need therapy if your way with coping with extreme trauma is snarking at it, comments a voice that sounds suspiciously like Click's deadpan. _And who are you to judge?_ you tell the Click-voice, barely registering that you're starting to tear up again. There's no reply, and that shouldn't hurt you like it does. You can't afford to wail; all your sensors are offline so as to conserve power, leaving you far too vulnerable to attack for your liking. You don't know if the organics have left yet. You don't even know how long it's been since the building collapsed on you. You don't know the day or time. Hell, you might've blacked out for years without realizing.

Not a comforting thought. 

In an attempt to block out the painful reality, you decide to imagine one of Reverb's "parties". You'd never liked big parties but Reverb was a good friend of yours and would throw nice little parties that were really just get-togethers with music, all for his friends. He would use Click's playlists, too, so it really wasn't that bad. Except for Conduit, Ree's conjunx, who was a bit too religious in your opinion. He'd probably say your survival was miraculous, that it was a blessing of Primus.

If you could laugh right now, you would. But you can't, and you proceed to force yourself back into the daydream before reality hits again, this time without Conduit.

You think you hear one of Click's favorite songs play and imagine yourself dancing as poorly as Click always did. She laughs in your audial and grabs your shoulders to waltz along to the very not-waltzy song, singing the words in a soft voice. Reverb slips in to steal Click away, and she giggles before dipping him. You sway in time as you circle the pair, before suddenly Click whirls away from her partner and pushes him to you. Reverb bows and you roll your optics before taking his hands and pulling him around with you, in a less-energetic imitation of his previous dance with Click. Beside you she dances on her own quite cheerily, clapping to the beat and singing her spark out. You smile and reach over to tap her shoulder and then—

You'd moved. Not in your fantasy but in real life. The real life in which you were trapped under debris and probably close to death. 

Pain shoots up your arm. Not only because of the movement. Something pointy that had not been there before was wedging itself in your shoulderplates. 

You grit your dentae and try to bear it.

After maybe a minute the pain isn't lessening, and you're getting far too lightheaded due to all the energon loss. Coming to a decision, you turn on exactly one sensor—the spark-identifying one you've barely ever used before but still kept, just in case. You attach an alert to it, making it so that if any spark signatures appear on your radar you'd be immediately notified.

You proceed to black out.

\---

An alarm.

Instantly you wake up. There are two others with sparks in your area! No, wait—three. Four? Five. You wait for more. No one else appears. 

Five sparks other than yours. Five survivors.

Even better, they seem to be headed right for you! You wish you could move a little more, just enough to ensure that they would be able to find you.

Speaking of movement…

Slowly, experimentally, you wiggle your fingers. No pain. Wiggle your antennae. No pain!

Then again, you feel numb everywhere. But you digress.

Once again, you're distracted by the readings. These people are so  _close_! You turn on your vision and—oh, wow. Oh, wow.

You don't know whether to be scared or excited. You're definitely curious, though. These mechs cannot be from Prion. They're far too big. _And they look far too powerful,_ you add with a hint of panic.

But they do have sparks, if your sensors aren't totally screwed up. You recall Click's history lessons—more importantly, her burbling about Cybertron and its colonies, which included Prion.

Maybe these mechs are from Cybertron. They could help.

You flick your antennae as much as you can. You even manage to croak out a few static-filled cries of "help."

Soon the mechs are closer. Your vision is too blurry to make out the finer details, but—yes, they do seem to be very powerful. 

Dark metal, and most noticeably, purple take up most of your line of sight. Someone is speaking, but you feel it more than you can hear it. 

You feel lighter as debris is lifted off your chassis. Soon two large, strong hands are taking you in the air, and you find yourself nestled in the arms of the dark purple mech.

A small lilac mech pokes at you, but his hands are swatted away by another small one, though this one was more of a burgundy color. They argue quietly as you lean closer to your savior. The low rumble of his engine and his soft chuckle is so soothing; you want to curl up and go into recharge now.

Then you notice a corpse. Gray, of course, but the purple of Mini-Con energon is obvious on the remains. She's missing both arms and her head is barely attached. There's a gaping hole where her spark chamber is. Then, as you are carried away from the gruesome sight, you realize that the little femme was none other than your nerdy best friend.

You can't help but whine at Click's dead body. The big mech holding you pulls you even closer to him, pushing your face into his chestplate, presumably to hide you from any other spectacles of horror. You clutch helplessly at his armor, weeping softly for the death of the only home you've ever known, until you tire yourself out and fall asleep.

You'll have yourself a new home soon enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for a panic attack at the end of this chapter!
> 
> thank you all for those encouraging comments!!! i really want to bring you lovely folks new content cuz i Live To Please so this one is,, shorter than id planned. her road to recovery might take a few chapters, hope you don't mind.

_Where am I?_ is the first thought that drifts through your sleep-muddled processor. And then, _who is that?_

The mech in question is tall—for you, at least—and slender, with elevated silver coils on his shoulders. He makes clicking noises from where he sits hunched over, touching, _feeling_ a screen covered with raised bumps. His other hand is doing something in his lap. (You can't look over the edge of the berth enough to see what was going on down there.) He moves his head just enough to let you catch a glimpse of his optics—or rather, his utter lack of them. Where eyes should have been was just gaping blackness.

You must have gasped in surprise or otherwise made a noise, because he turns to look (?) at you and smiles wearily. "You're awake. Tarn," he adds, raising his voice. "She's awake."

"Excellent," booms a deep, ridiculously and illogically soothing voice. Another mech soon enters the room, and he's so big, you don't quite know where to look. He has massive guns on his arms, bright red eyes, and a face that couldn't possibly be his actual face. 

You focus on the face and try to quell the fears beginning to fester.

"How are you feeling?" the big mech asks.

"I… I'm fine," you answer, trying to be polite. 

"I am Tarn," he says, placing a (huge, terrifyingly huge) hand over his chest. Then he gestures with that same hand to the smaller red mech. "This is Kaon, and the Pet."

Kaon stands, gently pushing whatever was on his lap (the Pet?) off and nods in acknowledgment. 

Before either can get another word out, you point at Kaon. "Are you blind?" 

"Yes," he replies. It's a simple, emotionless answer, and he doesn't seem to particularly mind the question, but—

"Sorry, so sorry, that was very rude of me, wasn't it?" You shutter your optics and steel yourself, forcing your speech to slow down a little. "I'm—my name is Nickel. Of Prion."

Oh. _Oh_. Prion. Your… home. You shiver a little and put your arms around yourself, fixing your gaze on the berth and pray to the gods you don't believe in that you won't cry in front of these frightening mechs. 

You can't understand what's happening when a giant hand strokes your back with surprising gentleness. "Little one," rumbles Tarn. "May I advise you to rest some more?"

"I don't—I don't need rest." You bristle. "I want something to do. And don't call me 'little one.' My name is _Nickel_."

Kaon clicks, his expression carrying just enough concern to seep into the sound, and he and Tarn glance at each other. 

"Nickel," Tarn says slowly, though you think you can detect a hint of amusement in his impossibly beautiful voice. "I admire not only your tenacity but also your evident diligence. If you must do _something_ , let's start with helping you stand, shall we?"

"What?" You blank, and quickly run a diagnostic.

"Well," he begins, gesturing at your legs. "We did manage to find tires small enough to replace your former ones, as they were far too shredded to have any use."

"Thanks," you reply gruffly. Your head spins a little as you take in the damage dealt on your system. It's less than you thought, but you can infer that these mechs had done their best to help you along. Some of it must have healed naturally, though, seeing as it was awfully complex, especially for a blind 'bot. (You believed Kaon was your primary caretaker, as he was there when you woke.) Most of what was fixed wasn't perfect, but they were simple enough mistakes, so you could finish up those repairs on your own. 

"Is Kaon your medic?" you ask.

"No, we don't actually have a medic," Tarn admits. He seems somewhat embarrassed.

You roll your shoulders tentatively, and suddenly there's nothing but fiery pain in between your torso and left arm, making you wince. "Interesting," you comment through grit dentae.

Immediately your hosts leap into action. Tarn rushes forward, muttering something you can't quite make out before he leans over you, reaching down to still your trembling chassis. "Find Vos for me," he orders Kaon. "I want him to force her into shutdown."

"What?!" you cry. "I need exercise!"

"You need rest," he insists. At the edge of your vision Kaon slinks out, followed by something grayish and horizontal.

 "I'm the licensed clinician here!" you hiss. You're beginning to panic, and the sudden realization that your clinic is irrelevant forevermore because it's fucking _gone_ pushes you over the edge. You're crying and thrashing and god you're in so much pain and you don't even care. "I don't even know you people! How do I know you're not secretly going to kill me? Or that you're not a hallucination, or some cruel Consortia simulation?"

He is calm above you, but you can see a flash of worry in his optics. They're red, why are they red, you've never seen red optics before, that shouldn't happen!

"Vos!" he shouts, and that sends you into even more of an anxious frenzy. Your screams and cries are nothing more than short bursts of static, now. Your vision is blurry and there's only a dark, purple mass. Again. 

A strange, almost hoarse voice speaks words in a hurried fashion. You don't—you can't understand. What was happening? Why are there hands on you, on your body? Where are they? You can't feel anything and yet you feel everything.

You let loose one last cry for help, you feel the coolant freezing on your cheeks, and everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> might explain why tarn is so nice to her eventually. might end up doing it sooner than i want to because i have No Patience Whatsoever but anyway,,
> 
> (also kaon clicks for echolocation)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know very little about medicine or technology so im winging it with not a lot of research

You're awake again. This time no one else is there with you, and that allows for the largeness of the room to set in.

Oh god. You're so small here, and you can't defend yourself. If you stay here, with these huge mechs, you're gonna die some way or another. They had guns, and you didn't exactly like the look of those coils on Kaon's shoulder. Reminded you of things you don't want to think about. And, of course, the biggest, worst fear of all: what if they step on you?

You shutter your optics and take a few deep vents to calm yourself down.

Your chronometer's functioning, so you check it. It's—

Apparently, it's been almost two months since Prion. ( _Think objectively. Think objectively._ ) That's… okay. You could deal, you could deal, you could work with that. Under normal circumstances, with all the medical care necessary, you could be fully recovered in about five or six months. Here, though, it might be seven or eight. 

You shift a little, peering around your room and doing your best to ignore all the anxiety. You refuse to be overwhelmed again. 

Next to you on the berth is a datapad barely less than half your size. You lean over and tap the screen to wake it up. There are two comm frequencies printed on it in the simplest font ever, with the names 'Tarn' and 'Kaon' beside each. 

You register them both and, after much deliberation about whether this was even a good idea or not, choose to call Tarn.

It takes four seconds for him to pick up. When he does, you can hear… sounds in the background. Wailing and screaming and crying.

"Hi," you squeak.

"So you live," Tarn notes. You're pretty sure that it's happiness you hear in his gorgeous voice, but you're so _unsure_. And scared.

"Real observant of you." Honestly, though, you're too tired to be meek. Forget that your voice is even higher than normal, because it's also raspier than normal so any potential fear showing through is rendered moot. Totally moot. And entirely irrelevant. 

The amused sound at the other end pulls you out of your ~~denial~~ thoughts. "How do you feel?"

You try and move your left arm. If you remember correctly, that's the problematic one. "Fine, actually."

"Try using your legs as support."

You grumble something about how _you're_ the doctor here but you crawl to your knees with a wince, maybe a few pained groans, but it was fine. "Done."

"I advise you to not try standing until we get home," Tarn says gently. 

"Alright, whatever." You scowl and hope he can tell. "When will that be, exactly?"

"Soon," Tarn promises. "This job is almost done. I have to leave, now—"

"What job?" you interject. "What do you do?"

"I will tell you when you're ready."

Then he hangs up and leaves you to stew in irritation.

\---

They do return soon. You hear voices and heavy steps in the rooms around you.

Finally Tarn comes in.

"Hello, Nickel." He greets you warmly.

"Help me up," you demand. "And answer my questions."

"Pushy, are we?" Tarn moves with an elegance unfamiliar to you. He extends a hand for you to hold onto, and maybe you take it with both your own servos. With a death grip.

He raises his hand slowly, and you with it. You're off your knees and he finally deposits you so very gently onto the berth.

You keep yourself upright for about two seconds total before crashing back down with a whole one-mech chorus of groans.

"You're doing better than we thought you would," Tarn says conversationally.

You tried to make some snarky comeback but you barely had the energy for it. Instead you just made a pathetic sort of grunt.

He does laugh at that, and when you can feel his hand hovering near you, likely about to pick you back up, you swat it away with a growl (so tiny and cutesy compared to his lovely baritone, _dang_ ). You prop yourself up on your elbows and glare up at the monster of a mech before you, whom you may have started to like a little. "Now you answer my questions."

"Yes, ma'am."

You cock an optic ridge at that, but back to business. "Where am I?" you ask.

He looks taken aback for the tiniest amount of time. "The _Peaceful Tyranny_."

"Who are you? What do you do? Your job." 

"Well, we're Cybertronians."

You freeze, your next questions dying on your glossa.

He keeps going, though. "We belong to a faction called the Decepticons, and we are engaged in a long war against—"

You don't listen. So Click's historical tales were true after all, about Cybertron. You imagine telling her she was right, and her optics brighten and you don't have to see her smirk to know it's there as she comments about how of _course_ she's right, she's a genius.

Tarn sees your eyes getting that faraway look certain subordinates of his (Helex) got when fantasies were being had and seminars not listened to. He pauses his speech and leans down towards you. "I can give you some datapads to read on the cause—"

Once again you barely let him finish. "Yes, yes,  _please_!" You hate being bored.

He nods calmly. "Though you must sleep if you want them."

You might have pouted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: our girl meets the rest of the serial killer crew!
> 
> and because i cant help it: tarns so nice to her because shes a gosh dang medic! like, at first he was willing to take her in because she was a fellow cybertronian (sorta) and she was attacked by organics! which would hopefully lead her to join the 'cons (which does happen) and then he learns shes a medic, so!


End file.
